


True Grit (Dairy Aisle Ghosts)

by Bimo



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: Character Study, Christmas, Father Figures, Gen, Hope, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Loss, March Family Sadness, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12031095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bimo/pseuds/Bimo
Summary: Holland March must have some neighbours, right?





	True Grit (Dairy Aisle Ghosts)

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of thanks to the awesome Gin007, for the volunteering to proofread when a native speaker was needed. Also to Graduatedpillowmonster, who gave some real lovely feedback! :)

TRUE GRIT (DAIRY AISLE GHOSTS)

by Bimo

**December 1978**

Holland March, you ask? I am not sure if I am the right person to tell you, since I’m only a neighbour, an _elderly_ neighbour as certain people will gladly point out.

Well, nobody around here would have bet, say, more than a fiver that March would really do it. But believe it or not, he proved us all wrong in the end and built his second house on the very same spot where his first one used to stand. See? Over there.

A little smaller, perhaps, but all in all very solid. I like the roof and the windows because they make the whole place seem like a proper family home, and not like any of these flat roof bungalows that come straight out of some architect’s catalogue.

By the way, I am pretty sure that erecting this second house and moving in must have cost him dearly, and by this I don’t mean money, my friend.

March, you have to understand, is at the same time incredibly tough and very easily shaken.

Last month, shortly before Thanksgiving, he called the fire department, because Tim and Audrey Myers were having a barbecue in their back yard and the smoke was getting a little out of control. See, Tim and Audrey have only been living in this neighbourhood since August ’77. A very nice couple, from Seattle originally, one six-year-old son and a black and white English Setter called Nellie. Sweetest dog in the world, just as sweet as my own Labrador mix Sheila was.

Somehow nobody had warned the Myers that, out of respect and also out of sheer common sense, you should be careful with open fire and smoke if your house is next to March’s. Especially during the holiday season because March’s issues are not of the kind that can ever be fixed by handing him some big, juicy T-bone steak and a beer.

“Oh fuck,” was Tim Myers reaction, once we had finally told him March’s story in detail. “If something like that ever happened to Audrey and me-“

Tim had no idea, though, how much March’s state has improved during the last year. For starters, I haven’t seen his daughter Holly drive the Mercedes since February. This Jackson Healy fellow? Sure, a couple dozen of times. But not the girl, to my relief. You must know, Holly March is one hell of a kid and equipped with more common sense than a whole lot of adults, but she has just turned fourteen this October. That’s a bit young to drive around, don’t you think? Especially with traffic these days.

March should consider himself real lucky he’s got her.

Sometimes, when I look through my kitchen window I can see all three of them just as they were when they first moved here. Holly’s mother in a blue and white summer dress, and the girl, two, perhaps three, such a sweet little sunshine, on her father’s shoulders and trying to grab his nose all the time. March himself can’t have been a day over twenty-five.

Back in the day, my wife and I wondered whether he was actually old enough to be a responsible dad because he still looked so very young, more like a kid than a man. Scrawnier, shorter hair, no moustache. And Lord, could he smile.

Now of course, people are wondering whether he is fit to be a dad for different reasons.

Alcoholics have no business raising a child, they say, and under usual circumstances I would agree. My own mother drank, so I know what that’s like. But where was I? Ah, yes, March. “Slowly mending" are the words my wife would use if you asked her. Not that you’d notice by watching him on a day-to-day basis. But if you look at the whole picture?

There is this one incident from three years ago that I will always remember, probably because it was the 24th, just like today. You _always_ remember a date like today, don’t you?

My wife Hildy and I were doing some last minute grocery shopping at the local Vons a mile down the road when I spotted March in the dairy aisle, ill and exhausted, just standing there and clutching the handle of his shopping cart for nearly a minute. There wasn’t much in his cart, only some eggs, milk and strawberries. And just when I was wondering whether to walk over and help him get the hell out of that crowded supermarket and back into bed where he belonged, he looked at me and said, “Holly always gets pancakes on a day like tomorrow.”

Just that. Then he turned round and moved on. And since people are idiots who have all sorts of conventions and automatic responses, I called “Merry Christmas!” right after him when I knew that he wouldn’t have any.

But I can see I’m probably boring you with all these details, am I not? Anyway, time to go back inside now, because it’s getting late and a bit chilly.

Have a safe journey, my friend. And take care.

 


End file.
